When the priest perceived her alarm, he helped her rise. “You have nothing to fear.”
Her pleas fell on deaf ears. Pulling her along, the women were cheerful, speaking in their language and smiling. Juliet was mystified at their friendly treatment, a remarkable departure from their earlier conduct.
Up close, she noticed the women’s many ear piercings and necklaces carved from the nacre of fresh water mollusks and shining like rainbows. Where giant oak trees extended their branches like great arms over the sun-dappled river, they removed their clothes. Wading into the water, they motioned for her to follow.
Juliet’s cheeks burned with their lack of modesty. She had been brought up with a certain mode of dress and deportment and possessed highly instilled values not to exhibit any skin. As a midwife, she had been exposed to women during childbirth but they were under sheets and were clothed in a dressing gown.
To be so open and free?
They motioned for her to disrobe. Juliet shook her head and clapped her hands on her tattered skirts and dug her boots into the squishy mud along the river bank. They emerged from the water and surrounded her, their breasts jiggled and dark nipples unnerved her, their long dark hair wet and plastered upon their skins. Unable to understand them, she looked at the sky, the sun beating down on them, anything to avoid their nakedness. They pushed her down into the mud, tugged off her boots and yanked her into the water, splashing and frolicking.
A great blue heron, unhappy with the uproar, lifted from its rookery, beat its great wings and vanished down the river in a thin gray line. Laughing the women took hold of her and tore at her garments.
“No!” said Juliet, pushing away their hands. “Stop it.”
But the women were too many. When one of the women produced a knife, Juliet backed away. Was this a sacrificial ceremony?
Juliet dodged one woman and with her weight upended another. She picked up her skirts, and rushed to the opposite embankment, her sodden clothing like an anchor around her legs. Smiling and chattering, they grabbed hold of her again and guided her to the middle of the river.
The woman with the knife cut away her garments. Her chemise floated on an eddy, her petticoats snared on an upended log, and what was left of her shredded dress caught in the current and drifted downstream. She crossed her arms in front of her breasts to hide her nakedness. What would she wear?
If only she could swim away and hide in the reeds.
Squeezing her eyes tight, she conceded as hands rubbed, starting with her neck, down her back and arms, removing the accumulated dirt and grime. Her nerves danced, her brain raced, and her stomach somersaulted.
She opened her eyes.
The sand was abrasive and reddened her skin. The women reached to the river bottom, scooping up more grit and scrubbing her clean. She pushed their hands away, a worthless endeavor. They were resolved to bathe her.
Juliet stared at a young beautiful pregnant woman, her stomach enormously protracted. She gracefully sat beneath a willow, the branches swayed as if paying her homage. Two women attended her. No doubt the woman was near her time and they planned to assist her if necessary.
An old woman smashed a tuber against a rock and rubbed with her palms vigorously until bubbles appeared, and then nodded her head to the women to hold each of Juliet’s arms at right angles from her body. Trapped, they splayed her legs, allowing the woman to lather the foam over her. As they cared for her, their hands gentle on her bruises, and voices comforting, Juliet felt herself begin to relax, banishing some of her fear.
Hands moved about her waist, and neck and back, and they commenced to sing, a melodious tune that seduced her into its sinuous rhythm. Hands swirled around her breasts, the startling sensation causing her to inhale sharply.
“You must stop. It isn’t proper.” She tried to jerk her arms free but they laughed and held her all the more, the silky soap gliding over her sensitive nipples, her face a hotbed of shame.
The women oohed and aahed, spanning their hands, making note of her hips and nodding their heads in approval of what she supposed was her contrasting white skin and ability to bear children.
They pressed her under the ice-cold water and held her there. Were they trying to drown her? She fought to the top, sputtering and wiped her hair from her eyes. The woman lathered foam through her hair, massaging her scalp.
Oh, to be clean again. They pushed her under again to rinse and ushered her to shore. A blanket was wrapped around her and she was led through the village. Warriors gaped at her as she clutched the blanket to hide her nakedness. She was escorted to a small lodge where they left her.
She pressed aside a deerskin tarp and let her eyes adjust to the dim interior. Heat fired to the roots of her hair. Father Devereux gazed heavenward. Two Eagles grunted. Joshua, laying against furs, stared.
She cleared her throat and pulled her damp hair out. She managed the blanket as much as possible to conceal her state of undress and knelt next to Joshua, smoothing her hand across his brow when all she wanted to do was pull him into her arms and soothe him.
His paleness and loss of blood distressed her. The gash in his head and congealed blood beneath the legging of his thigh alarmed her. The actions of the Indians, Father Devereux’s frustrating translations revealing little, and the day’s events remained a mystery. “Is it a tribal ritual for a white man entering the village to run a gauntlet?”
“Go and guard the lodge, Father Devereux. Tell me if trouble brews,” Ojistah ordered.
His cassock swishing, and cross banging against his chest, the priest clasped his hat and bent his head to exit.
Juliet looked to Two Eagles and pleaded with her eyes. “Mary.”
Ojistah rattled her language and Two Eagles swept out of the lodge. “I have told him to go and get your friend. To tell Red Jacket, I have ordered it.”
Would he be able to rescue Mary?
Her nerves pulled tight. Joshua eyed her strangely, as if trying to gather a sense of time and place. Did he have a head injury? Would he linger in a fog for the rest of his life?
Juliet remained, mesmerized, fascinated, and drawn into those blue orbs.
Beneath the filth and dark beard, a rugged flesh and blood man radiated strength, masculinity and power. Even with his leanness, he dwarfed her.
He raised his hand to touch her and she held his palm against her cheek, felt tears prick her eyes at seeing him like this. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you.”
He swallowed hard, searching to form words, and rasped out, “There is still an ordeal ahead, if you accept—”
“Accept?”
His hand went limp in hers and his head rolled to the side. No answer there.
Suspended from the rafters were lengths of corn braids. Strange face masks adorned the walls, looking inward. Shelves were filled with earthen pots, woven baskets, wooden implements and furs. To have her own lodge spelled Ojistah’s importance.
The medicine woman, heedless of Juliet’s inquiry, sprinkled herbs in two earthen pots, set them on the fire, and then removed a kettle to cool. Rising, Ojistah snatched more herbs from the rafters and added them to the pots.
Joshua’s mud-caked clothing was sopped with black-crusted and fresh red blood. She reached out, then drew her hand away. In her entire existence, nothing had prepared her for this and she cursed Onontio, his warriors and their horrid practices.
To survive, Joshua needed a miracle.
His blue eyes flashed in her mind, wounded eyes, like those of a child stretching out to her for comfort, shadowed with sincerity. Her heart lurched.
“His wounds are many but not dangerous. He is a strong man,” said Ojistah.
Juliet rubbed her eyes from the stinging smoke swirling up to a hole in the roof. “You speak English?”
“The black robe has taught me.” Ojistah stirred her pungent concoction using a wooden spoon with a wolf’s head carving. “I have given Joshua herbs in a sleeping draught which takes a long time to set in and ex
plains his lack of responsiveness. I have also brewed restorative teas of sassafras and witch hazel to heal and give him strength. He will be affected by a deep nourishing sleep and be awake by the evening’s events.”
With a knife, Ojistah cut off his buckskins, revealing an angry gash across his thigh. Ojistah handed her a cloth. Juliet’s blanket dropped. Her face flaming, she pushed aside her modesty and washed away the clotted blood; the coppery smell of fresh blood wafted. Her stomach roiled and whirled. She swallowed down the oncoming waves.
“Is there any other way I can help?”
“Hand me the basket in the corner.” Ojistah boiled balsam and juniper bark, taking out smooth pieces and allowing them to cool.
She filled the gash along Joshua’s thigh with powdered red punk wood. “Hold his shoulders down,” Ojistah commanded.
Juliet pressed her knees into his shoulders, anchoring him with her weight. She tried not to wince as a fiery ember was touched to the punk wood. Light flashed across the angry laceration. Joshua soared off the furs, knocking the two women aside. Ojistah and Juliet pushed him back on the furs where he fell to sleep again.
“The burning stops any bleeding. Now help me bind the wounds. The bark has healing properties and soothes bruises and burns.”
There were no bandages, but the balsam and juniper bark served as a substitute. Ojistah demonstrated and Juliet followed.
Why did she feel a connection with the woman?
“We are both medicine women,” said Ojistah without looking up.
Juliet jerked her head and stared. There it was again, an incomprehensible force Ojistah aroused, a strange knowing that rattled her like it had when Ojistah had clasped her ancient hand beneath Juliet’s chin.
Ojistah raised an eyebrow, the action furrowing wrinkles in her forehead. “Are you not a healer?”
“I am a midwife. How do you know?”
Ojistah smiled. “I know many things. You have great powers breathed by the Great Fire Dragon. Your appearance in this land is nearly as sacred as Sky Woman who fell upon the Great Turtle’s back. Be not afraid, push aside your confusion and accept what gifts come to you with humility and hone them to your best ability.”
Juliet attempted to grasp Ojistah’s obscure message and fumbled with the smooth balsam and juniper bark.
Warm hands were placed upon hers, patiently instructing as they applied the bandages to Joshua until Juliet understood what to do. Ojistah’s touch instilled a baffling, burning light of confidence.
“He will sleep for now. Tonight, he will be strong as an ox.” Ojistah’s voice ministrations mirrored those of a mother for her child, her reassurance, soothing.
“You care for Joshua?” Juliet asked.
With Joshua between them, Ojistah sat cross-legged, and readjusted her silver armbands. “A monster bear, carrying evil orenda and consuming human flesh, terrorized the village for many moons. Numerous attempts by our warriors to hunt and kill the bear were met with death. Foolishly, my young grandson decided to kill the bear.
“The bear trapped him. Joshua happened to have been visiting the village, heard his cries, ran at the bear and killed him with his knife, a single blow to the heart. The bear toppled on both of them. Two Eagles and other braves rolled the massive bear over. My grandson was huddled under Joshua and the two were alive and unharmed.”
Ojistah paused. “Killing the bear when no one else was able, garnered great respect, and made Joshua immortal. My grandson keeps the tooth of the great bear around his neck,” Ojistah smiled. “Saving my grandson made Joshua close to my heart.”
The bear story was true? Not a whimsical yarn?
Ojistah poured an infusion into a wooden bowl. “Brewed willow bark will tamp down any fever and ease his pain.” She lifted Joshua’s head and Juliet spooned in a portion, stroking his throat for him to swallow so he’d not choke.
“Joshua is blood brother to Two Eagles.”
Two Eagles’ blood brother?
“Now for you. I will not take no for an answer.”
Ojistah bathed Juliet’s blistered feet and bruises in a brew of red oak, wild cherry bark and dewberry roots. With a deer bone comb, she untangled Juliet’s long red hair until it shone in bright copper waves. Juliet closed her eyes, feeling the tension leave, marveling at her gentleness.
Suddenly, Ojistah stilled, dropped the bear comb. Juliet glanced behind her, her hair caught in a hard grip. The medicine woman’s eyes rolled back, only milky-white remained. “Behold my vision. I see many villages destroyed, hunger pinching the bellies of our children, the crying of women and children, diseases and the losing of wisdom of our elders for they will die.”
Outside a flock of ravens circled and cawed in a ghastly flapping of wings. Dogs howled, a zephyr gusted, shaking the wigwam. Juliet sat motionless, the harshly whispered words hung, suspended like the coiling smoke. Ojistah’s head dropped then lifted, her chocolate eyes returned to normal yet seized with great fear.
Questions crowded in Juliet’s throat, but before she could speak, a hawk pitched a horrific cry above the smoke hole.
Juliet whispered, “You have had a vision.”
“Very bad. I must think on it.”
A woman entered with a beautiful white doeskin dress decorated with beads and porcupine quills.
“For you,” said Ojistah, discarding any hint of her revelation.
Juliet stood and looked to where Joshua tossed and turned. He was sleeping, wasn’t he? Satisfied his eyes were closed, she dropped the blanket and allowed the woman to place the dress over her head. She gasped at the softness of the dress, and her eyes welled with tears at Ojistah’s generosity. Smooth moccasins were placed on her feet.
With lingering touches, Juliet fidgeted with the beads, obsessed with what Joshua had said before he went into an induced sleep. “What did Joshua mean by my acceptance and why did he have to run the gauntlet?”
“He had to win his bride.”
“His bride?” Was Joshua to marry an Indian woman?
Bracelets clinking, Ojistah touched Juliet’s hair. “He fought for the white captive with hair of fire.”
Chapter Ten
Juliet reeled from Ojistah’s admission, unable to fathom Joshua had fought for her, and at risk to his life. To marry Joshua? She liked him, but to be connected for a lifetime to a man who was a complete stranger?
Certainly, it was an Indian ceremony and held no obligation. She would not hold him to the vows. They would marry to put on a front. Once away from the village, they would separate and no one would know the better of it.
Angry voices drew their attention. Father Devereux ducked his head into the lodge. “You ought to make an appearance, Ojistah.”
The medicine woman rose and Juliet followed. Mary stood behind Two Eagles, wringing her hands. When she beheld Juliet, she tried to run to her. Two Eagles shook his head, staying her with his powerful arm.
Red Jacket’s face was mottled with rage but far more incensed was Onontio who spoke rapidly.
Father Devereux moved to Juliet’s side and translated. “Onontio has claimed the light-haired woman from Red Jacket since he cannot have the red-haired captive. However, Two Eagles argues corn-tassel is his woman.”
Onontio grabbed Mary’s arm, and then found a knife stuck at his throat.
“One more step…one more motion…in this direction,” Two Eagles grunted in his tongue without taking his eyes from Onontio, “…and I will cut your throat.”
“Ganösá,” swore Onontio, his expression beyond astonishment. “I made the raids. She is my prisoner. You are lucky I allow you to live.”
With nervous fingers, Juliet clutched her bodice watching the tableau. Onontio was not the kind of warrior to yield and he might win Mary.
The Mohawk medicine woman stepped forward and lifted her hand for all who had assembled. “Two Eagles says she is his woman. He speaks the truth. I’ve seen it in a vision.”
A pregnant hush fell upon the villagers and a momen
t of indecision stretched interminably. Some of the Indians stepped back, venerating Ojistah. Her gift of sight was not to be dishonored.
Onontio’s lips curled, his teeth bared. “One day I will kill you, Two Eagles.”
Two Eagles smiled at the War Chief, a distinctly vulpine curve to his lips. “Only if you come at me or what is mine, like the coward you are…it is you who will die.”
For a long moment, Onontio glared at Two Eagles, and then turned, shouldering his way through a ring of spectators and knocking a number to the ground.
Mary flew into Juliet’s arms. “I’ve been so frightened. Now I’m Two Eagles’ woman. Which is worse?”
Juliet glimpsed the disgust on Two Eagles’ face before his formidable control was back in place.
Ojistah placed her hand on Mary. “You must walk with Two Eagles to reinforce my prediction. If not, you will be returned to Onontio.”
Juliet hugged her friend and pushed her away. “Do what Ojistah has said. I sent Two Eagles to get you, and now you have insulted him.”
“The savage does not know what I said. He does not speak English.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, glancing uncertainly at Two Eagles. Two Eagles had departed and Mary hurriedly followed him round the village, leaving Juliet wondering if Ojistah’s vision had been a ruse or not.
Chapter Eleven
Evening mantled the village. Joshua inhaled fragrant wood smoke from several lit fires that illuminated the smiling faces of the villagers. The marriage of their blood brother was an occasion.
Women surrounded Juliet, jabbering together in excitement, pushing her ahead. Joshua craned his neck to catch sight of her. She stood tall, carrying herself with dignity and grace with each step forward. His chest expanded, admiration and respect for her growing. She wore a white doeskin dress that clung to her feminine curves, curves he’d a glimpse of when he stirred from sleep while she had dressed for the wedding. The tantalizing image sizzled through his brain, dazzling as the first glow of the world as she lit his bleak existence. Tall, her hair, shining like ethereal fire, and tumbling down her back, covering her rounded hips…set a man to dreaming.
Lord of the Wilderness Page 8
